Rise of the Listener
by MarcusBlackheart
Summary: Marcus Blackheart, a high ranking member of the only known remaining chapter of The Dark Brotherhood has returned to Skyrim after 2 months abroad on a contract. Upon his return, he finds himself caught in the middle of an Imperial ambush while trying to cross the border from Eastmarch into The Rift.
1. Prologue

As his vision returned to him, Marcus felt the pain searing through his head. He tried to lift his hand to quickly assess the damage, but he found that his hands were bound tightly behind his back. He grunted quietly in frustration. How in the name of Sithis had this happened? In hindsight, he should have seen that ambush coming from a mile off. All of the signs were there. Darkwater Crossing was the perfect location in which to spring a trap and he should have heard the damn Imperials before they had a chance.

Marcus raised his head and noticed that he wasn't alone. Around him sat three other Nords. One had dirty blonde hair and a proud look on his face. He wore a blue grab over his armor, clearly indicating he was a Stormcloak soldier. All of the rebels wore this blue garb over their armor. The second man had dark brown hair which looked slicked back with some form of oil and a sullen look about him. He was dressed in a simple brown tunic and trousers with foot wraps. The third man was bound and gagged. He wore a more regal looking attire. Marcus guessed that he was some noble who had been arrested for supporting the rebels with coin or arms and supplies. Why the man was gagged though, Marcus could not tell. The Stormcloak Suddenly looked in his direction.

"Hey, you're finally awake", he said to Marcus

Marcus merely stared back at him, saying nothing.

"You were trying to cross the border into The Rift aye?" he asked, "Like the horse thief here".

The sullen looking man looked up and glared at the Stormcloak.

"Damn Stormcloaks", He spat, "If it weren't for you, I could have had that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell by now".

The Imperial soldier steering the cart leaned his head back.

"Shut up back there", he snapped.

The horse thief looked over to the man who was gagged.

"What's his problem?", he asked, indicating the man with a nod of his head.

The Stormcloak scowled.

"Watch your tounge", he growled, "You have the honour of addressing Ulfric Stormcloak".

Ulfric Stormcloak? Marcus shifted his gaze towards the gagged man. If he was indeed Ulfric Stormcloak, Marcus knew he had already began his journey to The Void. The horse thief seemed to be thinking the same.

"The Jarl of Windhelm?" he asked, trepidation filling his voice, "But you're the leader of the rebellion. If they have you…Oh Gods! Where are they taking us?"

He buried his face in his hands. The Stormcloak gave him a look of pity and then stared off into the distance.

"I don't know where we are going", he said softly, "But Soverngarde awaits".

Marcus leaned back on the bench. Soverngarde. The after-life of his ancestors. He, of course, would never reach the mystical realm where Nordic warriors go upon their deaths. Marcus was a sworn member of the Dark Brotherhood. His life and soul were pledged in service to Sithis. Upon his death, his soul was destined for an eternity in The Void, serving the Dread Lord.

The horse thiefs frantic praying pulled him from his thoughts.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh", he mumbled, "Divines, please save me".

"Quiet now horse thief", the Stormcloak said, "The Gods cannot help us. Which village are you from?"

"Why do you care?" the horse thief sobbed.

"A Nords last thoughts should be of home", the Stormcloak replied.

The horse thief sniffed and whipped his eyes with the back of his right hand.

"Rorikstead", he croaked, "I'm….I'm from Rorikstead".

Marcus looked away. He began thinking of his own home. Not of the Sanctuary, but of his youth in Falkreath. His father and his uncles had been born in Falkreath and so too had he when his father had moved his mother from her home in Cyrodiil. When the Great War had broken out, his father, who at this stage was an ex-Legionaire, had been called back into service to combat the armies of the High Elven Aldmeri Dominion. Marcus had lost his uncles, who were killed in combat in Hammerfell, and his mothers parents, who were murdered by Altmeri soldiers when they sacked the Imperial City.

When the war was over and the White-Gold Concordat was signed, Marcus, along with his mother and father, moved to a devastated Imperial City to lay his grandparents remains to rest. It was here Marcuses parents were arrested by Thalmor Justiciars and executed for worshipping Talos, which had been outlawed by the White-Gold Concordat.

A rough jerk pulled Marcus from his thoughts as the wagon passed through a gate and into a town. The Stormcloak looked around at the passing houses.

"This is Helgen," he said softly, more to himself than anyone else, "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in".

Marcus looked at him and smiled.

"A good place as any to die", he said to the Stormcloak.

The Stormcloak looked back at Marcus, smiled and nodded. It wasn't long before the wagon came to a stop and they were ordered out. It was here the horse thief began to panic.

"No, we're not rebels", he cried, and turned to the Stormcloak, "Please, you have to tell them this is a mistake, we weren't with you".

"Face your death with some courage thief", the Stormcloak said fiercely.

As they were loaded out of the wagons, they were stood before an Imperial officer and a soldier, who was holding what looked like a list.

"Walk forward when we call out your name", the officer barked.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm", the soldier read.

As Ulfric Stormcloak strode forward, the Stormcloak soldier bowed his head.

"It has been an honour Jarl Ulfric", he said quietly.

"Ralof of Riverwood", the soldier read.

The Stormcloak walked forward, holding his head up high. Finally, after more names had been called out and only the horse thief and Marcus remained, the horse thiefs name was called.

"Lokir of Rorikstead", the soldier read.

As if on cue, the horse thief made a mad dash for the road that lead back to the main gate. An archer standing behind the officer notched an arrow on the string of his bow, pulled back and let loose. The arrow found its mark, burying itself into the throat of the horse thief. Lokir made a choking noise, as his body fell limply to the ground. The soldier looked back to his list as the officer gave the rest of the prisoners a disdainful look.

"Anyone else feel like running?" she asked, almost daring them to try.

"Wait", the soldier said as he looked up from the list and stared at Marcus, "You there, step forward."

Feeling confused, Marcus stepped forward. He did not fear death nor the thought of execution, but something here did not feel right.

The soldier looked Marcus up and down and asked, "Who are you?"

Marcus gave the soldier a quizzical look.

"Marcus Blackheart, of Falkreath Hold", he replied.

The soldier looked back to his list, reading through the names. Finally he turned to the officer.

"Captain, he not on the list", the soldier said solemnly.

The officer gave Marcus a look over, smirked and replied, "Forget the list, he goes to the block."

Soldiers stepped forward and dragged Marcus over to the rest of the captives. Marcus never took his eyes from the officer. He swore to himself and to Sithis that if he somehow managed to get himself out of this mess, he would hunt this captain down and drive a blade through her throat.

After the first prisoner had been executed, the captain stepped forward.

"Next, the Nord in the rags", she called.

The soldier with the list turned to Marcus.

"To the block prisoner", he told him, "Nice and easy".

Marcus walked forward, knelt and layed his head and neck on the block. He recalled Ralofs words.

'A Nords last thoughts should be of home'

He closed his eyes and thought of Falkreath and its dense pine forests. He thought of his mothers smiles and he helped her clean the store his parents ran. He recalled his fathers praise as he made his first kill while hunting. As he lay there, recalling these happy memories and waiting for the axe to fall, he smiled.

But the axe never fell. Instead he heard a monsterous roar, and voices calling out in panic.

"What in Oblivion is that?"

"It's in the clouds"

"Senteries, what do you see?"

Marcus opened his eyes and instantly saw it. Perched upon the roof of the watch tower, great black wings unfurled, scales as dark as night and as dense as steel. This couldn't possibly be happening.

"Dragon", a woman scream from nearby.

Almost immediately, the dragon raised its head and let out an unmerciful roar. Above, the clouds in the sky began to swirl and fire began falling from the heavens. The dragon then looked in his direction.

'FUS RO DAH'

Marcus felt himself being thrown backwards with an almighty force. Did that dragon just speak? Not only did Marcus hear the dragon speak words, but he swore he thought he understood them. How was that possible? He felt arms pulling him to his feet.

"Hurry, get up", he heard a voice say.

He turned and saw the voice belonged to Ralof.

"Follow me", Ralof yelled, "We have to get out of here".

And with that, Ralof began running towards the open door of another watch tower. Without hesitation, Marcus ran after him. Once he bolted passed the door and into the tower, Ralof slammed the door shut behind him. Marcus looked around the room he found himself in. He was surrounded by several Stormcloak soldiers. Some were lying on the ground, clearly wounded. The rest were kneeling beside their wounded comrades, trying to give what little aid they could. By the door, leaning against the wall, was Ulfric Stormcloak himself. Ralof stepped forward.

"Jarl Ulfric, what was that?" Ralof asked, "Could the legends be true?"

Ulfric whipped some sweat from his brow and grunted, "Legends don't burn down villages".

Ulfric glanced around the room at the men and woman gathered there.

"We need to move now", he said quickly.

Ralof turned to Marcus.

"Stick with me, we'll find a way out of here," he said, "Quickly, up the stairs."

Marcus followed Ralof up the stairs, trying not to trip over the steps. He was finding it difficult to balance without the use of the arms. Suddenly, Ralof wrapped his arm around Marcuses chest and yanked him backwards. The wall next to where Marcus had been standing caved in and the dragons head slipped into the massive hole.

'YOL TOOR SHUL'

Fire streamed from the dragons mouth, incinerating an unlucky Stormcloak soldier who had been standing before the dragon. As the dragon pulled his head from the watch tower, once again Marcus swore that the dragon spoke before breathing the fire. But this time, not only did he understand what the dragon had said, he could tastes the fire in the back of his throat and feel the fury of the words coursing through his body. What in the name of Sithis was happening to him? Ralof stood and helped him to his feet.

"Ysmirs beard, that was a close call", he said, voice shaking with fright.

He made his way to the gaping hole in the tower wall and looked out through it. He turned back to Marcus.

"There's a building just below with a caved in roof", he told Marcus, "It's a short fall so you should be ok".

Marcus walked to Ralofs side and peered out below. He was right. The fall was a short one. The worst he would come away with would be sore legs is he could keep his footing when he fell. He turned to Ralof.

"What about you?" he asked him.

Ralof grinned and pointed back down the staircase.

"We need to find a way to move the wounded, but we'll try and stay right behind you", he explained.

Ralof took another look out through the hole and clapped Marcus on the shoulder.

"Talos guide you, brother", he told Marcus and made his way back down the stairs.

Marcus watched his as he left and then looked back through the hole. Now that he thought about it, the drop seemed steeper than he first thought. He pushed that thought from his mind. If he delayed any longer, it was only going to get worse. He stepped up to the edge, and pushed himself outwards. As he fell, he bent his knees in anticipation of the landing. As he reached the floorboards of the building, the impact of the fall sent a shock through his legs, causing his to stumble into a table. He leaned against the table for a moment to catch his breath and regain his balance. Other than the aching in his legs from the impact, he seemed to be alright. Quickly, he made his way down the stairs of the building and out a side door. There he found the soldier who read from the list with an old man and a young boy.

"Gunmar, take care of the boy", he yelled, "I have to find General Tullius and join the defense".

The soldier turned and spotted Marcus.

"Still alive prisoner", he said, "Stick with me if you want to remain that way".

As the soldier began to move out, the old man called after him, "Gods guide you Hadvar".

Marcus followed the soldier though the ruins of Helgen until they reached the main gate, which had been blocked by fallen rubble. The Imperial General shouted in their direction.

"Hadvar, into the keep soldier. We are leaving!"

Hadvar turned to Marcus.

"With me prisoner", he said quickly, "This way".

He lead Marcus around a corner and in the main square of Helgen. A group of Stormcloak soldiers stood before them, Ralof among them. Hadvar growled.

"Ralof, out of my way you damned traitor", he yelled.

"We're escaping Hadvar", Ralof retorted, "You can't stop us".

"Fine then. I hope that dragon takes you all to Soverngarde", Hadvar cursed. He turned to Marcus. "With me prisoner, into the keep".

Hadvar ran to the nearest door and shouldered it in. Marcus watched Ralof and the rest of the Stormcloaks rush toward the secondary gate before following Hadvar into the keep.


	2. Chapter 1 - An Unexpected Ally

Marcus half sat on one of the beds in the barracks area of the keep they found themselves in. His head began to spin and he suddenly felt ill. How in the name of Sithis and the Nine Divines could what just happened be possible? A living, breathing dragon was tearing Helgen to pieces. And those shouts. He could still feel his throat burning, as if he himself had let that fire loose from his lungs. He raised his head and looked in Hadvars direction. He was leaning against a wall, trying to catch his breath.

"Was that really a dragon?" he asked, a look of sheer disbelief crossing his face, "The bringers of the end times".

"I would appear so," Marcus replied, his voice extremely hoarse. Why the hell was his throat burning in the first place?

Hadvar shook his head, stood away from the wall and walked over to Marcus.

"Turn around", he said, "Let me see if I can get those bindings off".

Marcus turned and allowed Hadvar to slip his dagger in between the loops of the binds. Hadvar pressed the blade heavily against the rope and began to saw the bindings loose. In a matter of seconds, Marcus's hands were free. The skin on his wrists were red raw from where the rope had rubbed off against the flesh. Marcus flexed his hands and rolled his wrists in order to give some strength back to them. Hadvar tossed aside the rope and sheathed his dagger.

"There you go," he said and then indicated to the room around them, "Take a look around and see if you can find some gear for yourself. There should be armor in the chests and weapons hanging from a rack at the end of the room. I'm going to see if I can find something for these burns".

Marcus turned away from him and moved towards the chest at the foot of the bed he had been sitting on. Upon opening it, he found an Imperial leather chest piece with pauldrons and a pair of studded gauntlets. Beside the chest he found a pair of leather plated boots. He discarded the rags the Imperials had fitted him with and donned the armor. The armor was lighter than he was used to. He made a mental note to be more cautious than usual should he find himself in trouble. He hurried to the opposite end of the room and found a rack full of iron swords. He picked one up and tested its edge. Sharp enough to puncture leather and mail if thrust hard enough. He gave it a few swings to test its weight against his balance. The first couple of swings pulled him forwards but soon his arm grew accustomed to its weight. A bit too heavy but it would suit its purpose. He turned to find Hadvar.

"I'm ready when you are", he called to him.

Hadvar walked towards him and tossed him a glass vial. Marcus caught it. He saw that it contained a creamy paste.

"Some salve for your wrists", Hadvar explained.

Marcus uncorked the vial and rubbed the salve into the raw flesh of his wrists. Instantly, the pain began to fade.

"My thanks", Marcus said.

"None need. Come on," Hadvar said to him, "We have to get moving if we want to get out of here".

He led Marcus through the door of the barracks and down a short hallway. They soon found themselves behind a gateway leading into the main hall of the keep. On the other side of the gateway was a couple of Stormcloak soldiers. Marcus leaned to hear what they were saying.

"We need to get out of here", one of them said quickly, "That dragon is tearing the whole keep apart."

"Just….just give me…..give me a minute", the other gasped, "I need to catch my breath."

Hadvar gave Marcus a look.

"Keep your weapon sheathed," He whispered, "Perhaps we can reason with them".

"And if we can't?" Marcus asked, giving Hadvar a sceptical look, "If I don't have time to draw my weapon, we're dead".

"Just trust me", Hadvar replied.

Why he did trust him, Marcus had no idea. This man and his comrades had been sentencing Marcus to death a mere 20 minutes earlier for no other reason than he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. By all rights, he should be taking his sword and driving it through Hadvars gut and any other Imperial soldier he saw. But then again, Hadvar did bring forward the point that Marcus was not supposed to be there, and even treated him with sympathy. Why that had earned Marcus's trust was a mystery. Perhaps it was just because the Nord soldier was a likable person. He pushed the thought from concern and allowed Hadvar to carry out his plan.

"Alright, but I think going in there unarmed is suicide", Marcus said wearily.

Hadvar gave a quick grin. He then placed his hands up in the air and walked slowly into the main hall. Marcus followed his lead. As the Stormcloaks spotted them, they straightened up and drew their weapons, an ugly looking bastard sword for one, and the other, two iron hand axes. Hadvar kept his hands raised.

"Easy now, we are unarmed," Hadvar cautioned, "We only wish to talk."

"And why should we listen to anything an Imperial dog would have to say?" the Stormcloak with the bastard sword growled.

"We'd sooner open you from chin to groin," the one with the axes joined.

Marcus scowled.

"In case it has escaped your notice, there is a dragon outside these walls, tearing Helgen apart," he snapped at the Stormcloaks, "A dragon who poses more of a threat to you than a lightly armed Imperial soldier and civilian".

"He's right", Hadvar said instantly, "And besides, you need us just as much as we need you. I know exactly how to escape this keep without going through the town. Without me, you'll be stuck here."

The Stormcloak with the sword eyed the pair suspiciously.

"Or we could always just kill your friend here, break your arms and force you to show us the way out", the axeman threatened.

"If you take that path, the only place it will take you is straight to Soverngarde friend," Marcus warned.

The swordman turned to his comrade.

"Perhaps the Imperial is right brother", he said quietly, "As he said, he can lead us out."

The axeman gave his comrade a look, sighed and shook his head.

"Very well", he mumbled, sheathing his axes, "But one foul move and we will cut you down like the dogs you are!"

As the Stormcloak with the sword sheathed his weapon, Marcus saw his chance. He was not going to trust these Stormcloaks on their word, only to have them turn and cut them down suddenly. He pulled Hadvars dagger from its sheath, took quick aim and threw. The dagger sailed through the air, making two revolutions before burying itself into the swordmans chest. With a grunt, he fell to the ground, clutching at his wound. Instantly, before the other could react, Marcus rushed forward and drew his sword. The axemans eyes opened wide as he moved to draw his axes. But Marcus was that much quicker. He wrapped his fingers around the axemans wrist and violently twisted it to the left. As he heard the bone crack, he forced the man to his knees, and without hesitation, drove his sword deep into the Stormcloaks neck and collarbone. A sickly bubbling noise issued from his mouth as Marcus withdrew his sword and let his body fall to the floor. He turned to check on the other rebel. He was dead.

"What in the name of the gods are you doing?" Hadvar asked, shocked, "They agreed to come with us!"

"We could have expected no help from them," Marcus said harshly, "As the slightest chance, they would have stabbed us in the back. And besides, when we finally got out of here, do you really think they would have just turned tail and let us go our separate ways?"

Hadvar gave him a troubled look.

"I suppose not", he said wearily, "But how do I know I can trust you not to do the same to me, should the opportunity arise?"

Marcus stared at him for a moment.

"Because if it weren't for you, I'd still be outside, dodging the fire from that dragon," he finally explained, "I owe you my life".

Marcus pulled the dagger from the Stormcloaks chest, handed it to Hadvar and clasped his upon the shoulder.

"Come", he said to the frowning Nord, "It's time we got ourselves out of here. Lead the way".

Hadvar sheathed his dagger and moved towards a door on the other side of the chamber, unlocking it as soon as he reached it.

"This way", he said to Marcus.

Marcus followed him through the door. They found themselves on a landing, with stairs leading down further into the keep. Following the stairway down, it led them out into a long hallway. A group of Imperial soldiers stood a little ways down. Hadvar signalled to them.

"This way", he called out to them.

As they moved down the hallway towards Marcus and Hadvar, suddenly the ground around them shook. The ceiling above the Imperial soldiers began to crack off, and before they had time to react, even time to scream, it came crashing down on top of them. Hadvar cursed. Marcus spotted a door to their left and indicated it to Hadvar.

"Where does that lead?" he asked.

"A storeroom", Hadvar replied, "And that leads down into the torture room and prison. There should be a secret exit down in the prisons. Let's go"

Hadvar moved to open the door. Marcus quickly grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him back.

"What the hell are you doing?" Hadvar asked, taken by surprise.

Marcus silenced him with a look and a raised hand. He put a finger to his lips, indicating for Hadvar to be quiet. He made his way silently to the door and listened closely. The fast breaths of someone panting. He knew it! There were men on the other side of this door.

"There's someone on the other side of this door", Marcus whispered to Hadvar.

"Stormcloaks?" Hadvar asked in hushed tones.

Marcus listened closely, but no sound came.

"I don't know", he replied, "But if we have to pass through here, we need to be quiet"

Suddenly a voice issued from the room, muffled by the door.

"What are you doing? We need to get out of Helgen. Now!"

"Hold a moment brother", came another voice, "These Imperials have potions in here. We're going to need them."

"Stormcloaks", Hadvar cursed, "What are we going to do?"

Marcus thought for a moment. By the sounds of it, there were only two. Marcus alone should be more than a match for two rebel soldiers. He had faced worse odds before and come out the better. Plus he was not alone.

"Follow my lead", he whispered to Hadvar quietly.

Marcus placed his hand on the door knob and turned it as quietly as he could. Thankfully, the latch released silently and he let the door slowly swing open. Crouching, he made his way into the room as silently as possible. He spotted the two Stormcloaks. One had his head buried in a barrel, searching for supplies while the other was faced away from them. Marcus turned to Hadvar.

"I'm going to charge the one facing away from us", he told Hadvar, "Follow closely behind me and take out the one with his head in the barrel".

Hadvar nodded and slowly drew his sword. Marcus stood, drew his sword and leaped forward, roaring as he did. The Stormcloak jumped at the sound of the shout and turned to meet the threat. He was very lucky he had his weapon drawn, for if he had not, he would not have been able to parry Marcus's attack and would have found himself without a left arm. As Marcus pulled away from the parry and prepared to make another attack, the Stormcloak quickly swung his axe around and aimed a blow at Marcus's head. Marcus had barely enough time to lift his sword to block due to the fierceness of the blow and found himself staggering slightly. He did not have much time to regain his composure, as the Stormcloak followed up with a flurry of light blows. Marcus ducked and weaved his way around the Stormcloaks advances and just as he was about to be backed up against a wall, he found his opening. As the Stormcloak raised his axe for a forehand blow, Marcus forward rolled under his attack and let his sword swing. It found its mark and sliced through the rebels hamstring. The Stormcloak fell to his knees with a scream, clutching at the wound on his leg. Marcus pulled himself to his feet, grabbed the Stormcloak by his shoulder and drove his sword through the rebels back. As he withdrew his sword, a gush of blood issued from the wound. Panting slightly, he turned to check on Hadvar. He had sent his Stormcloak on the defense, quickly knocking aside his weapon and driving his sword through the Stormcloaks belly. The Stormcloak fell to the ground, moaning pitifully. Hadvar gave him a look of disgust, before drawing his dagger, reaching down and cutting the rebels throat. Marcus walked to him and helped him to his feet.

"Well that went a lot better than the first encounter", Hadvar dryly commented.

"Let's just hope we don't run into anymore," Marcus replied, "We may not be so lucky next time".

"Follow me", Hadvar said quickly, "The dungeons are this way".

Marcus followed as Hadvar lead him through another door and down more flights of stairs. They soon found themselves in a room dedicated to torture. Cages stood against the wall surrounding the room and a table in the middle held an array of tools, instruments used to cause pain. A torturer stood leaning against the table while his assistant stood solemnly behind him, weapon drawn. Three or four bodies wearing Stormcloak armor littered the room.

"Looks like you fellows are late for the festivities", the Torturer drawled, "These fools seemed to be a bit upset with the way I have been taking care of their comrades".

Hadvar stared at the man with nothing but contempt in his eyes.

"Don't you even know what's going on out there?" He asked the Torturer, "A dragon is attacking Helgen!"

"A dragon?" the Torturer scoffed, "Don't be so ridiculous".

Then he paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face.

"Although, come to think of it, I did hear some odd noises coming from over there", he said, indicated a passge that lead to the holding chambers, Marcus guessed.

"Come with us", Hadvar said, urgency creeping into his voice, "We need to get out of here".

The Torturer glared at Hadvar. The thought of being ordered around by someone more than half his age incised him.

"You have no authority over me boy," He growled.

"Didn't you hear me?" Hadvar shouted, "I said the keep is under attack".

Marcus placed his hand on Hadvar shoulder in an attempt to calm him down.

"Forget about them", he said, "If they want to stay, let them".

Hadvar glared at the pair standing before them. He then shrugged his shoulders and moved towards the entrance to the holding cells.

"You're right", he said softly, "Come on, let's get moving".

As they reached the end of the holding cells, they found that the wall had caved in and a tunnel leading away from the room. Hadvar gave Marcus a curious glance, and made his way into the tunnel. Marcus quickly followed, as the ground beneath them began to shake again. For maybe ten or fifteen minutes they followed a winding path until an opening into a large cavern stood before them. Hadvar grinned at Marcus.

"Come on" he urged and moved forward.

Suddenly, Marcus heard a distant twang and a faint whistling. He quickly grabbed onto Hadvars armour and yanked him backwards, just as an arrow passed through the space Hadvars body had occupied literally half a second beforehand.

"Shors Bones", Hadvar cursed, "That was a close one. More Stormcloaks do you think?"

Marcus shrugged.

"I don't know," He replied breathlessly, "But I think it matters little. That archer let fly the second you crossed that threshold."

Hadvar rubbed his forehead in frustration.

"What are we going to do then?" He asked.

Marcus assessed the situation for a moment. No matter what side that archer was on, he was clearly extremely twitchy and therefore more than likely in no mood to talk. There was only one thing left for the to do.

"Do you see that opening on the other side of the cavern?" Marcus asked as he pointed in the appropriate direction.

Hadvar squinted slightly. "Yes I see it," he murmered.

"We're going to have to make a break for it", Marcus told him, "One will have to go first to draw the archers attention, and the other will move when the first has reached a halfway mark".

Hadvar groaned, "Is that really our only option?"

"Yes, unfortunately," Marcus replied, "This guy is far too twitchy for my liking and I would rather take him by surprise than let him know we're coming out into the open".

"Fine, alright then," Hadvar sighed, "Who goes first?"

"I'll go," Marcus said, "When I reach that jagged rock formation there, you follow straight after me".

Hadvar nodded and stood back. Marcus took a pace or two back, took a deep breath, offered a prayer to Sithis, and propelled himself forward. The instant he cleared the opening, an arrow zoomed passed his head, missing by inches. Marcus ran in a zig zag formation in an attempt to throw the archer off his aim. As he reached the opening on the opposite side, he threw himself across it, landing hard upon the rocky floor of the tunnel. Seconds later, Hadvar had joined him, bleed slightly from the head.

"An arrow colliding into the rock formation, sending bits of shrapnel flying," he explain, using his hand to wipe away the blood, "It's only a scratch, don't worry. Come on, hopefully this tunnel will lead us to a way out."

This tunnel proved to be far longer than the last. By the time they saw a glimmer of light at the end of one of the passage ways, Marcus had lost track of how long they were walking for. And he didn't care. Just to see some form of natural light was a godsend. Hadvar clapped him on the shoulder.

"Come on, we're almost there", he said, joy filling his voice and began to run towards the exit of the cave.


End file.
